


Used To Be One Of The Rotten Ones And I Liked You For That

by ProstheticLoVe



Series: For The Rest Of Our Lives [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Established Relationship, Ian and Mickey talk in a roundabout way, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, POV Ian Gallagher, POV Mickey Milkovich, Season 11, Season 11 Spoilers, Smut, covers pre 11x01 to 11x03, filler scenes for season 11, fix it fic for season 11, more about showing feelings, my response to making sense of this season, nothing is resolved but they love each other, they continue to figure out marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProstheticLoVe/pseuds/ProstheticLoVe
Summary: Ian continues to struggle with learning what marriage is supposed to be while Mickey struggles with finding a job and leaving his old life behind. They both struggle with communication.Fix it/filler fic that goes from pre 11x01 - 11x03.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: For The Rest Of Our Lives [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123964
Comments: 8
Kudos: 140





	Used To Be One Of The Rotten Ones And I Liked You For That

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No one belongs to me! I’m just here to play. Any dialogue you recognizes belongs to JW.
> 
> Author’s Note: The title is taken from Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old Girl By Broken Social Scene. On an exciting note, I've been writing gallavich fanfic for one year! yay! 
> 
> Thank you to AnnaNSmith who read over and helped me figure out some of the scenes. I really appreciate the feedback and the assistance, especially the brainstorming. 
> 
> I don't even know what to call this. I was just trying to make sense of their behavior this season. And get some closure after the end of 11x03. I was not very happy with the end of 11x03 cause I guess I wanted more... So this little (read huge) monster was born. It was like supposed to be 8k and well, here we are. This is basically my response to make sense of what's going on this season with past seasons. It covers pre 11x01 to 11x03. I wanted to get this out earlier, but here we are. I hope you enjoy! Stay safe!

_"Dream About Me"_

_~Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old Girl By Broken Social Scene_

* * *

As the sun peeked in through the tiny window in their bedroom, Ian took a minute to study Mickey’s sleeping form beside him. His excuse was that he had spent far too long away from his husband in the past 10 years and therefore, he should be awarded these tender few minutes to  _ linger _ before he had to start the day. 

(And what a long fucking day it was now that he was working again.)

But if he was being honest, he didn’t really  _ need _ an excuse to watch his husband in the early hours of the morning. 

He just  _ liked _ doing it.

But he needed a cover story to save face if Mickey woke up and gave him that adorably crinkled brow raise and spat ‘the fuck you looking at?’

Every morning after his alarm went off, he took a few minutes to study the way the light filtered in through their window to illuminate Mickey’s soft features as he slept.

It was a nice, calming way to spend the first minutes of the day.

And one that he’d grown accustomed to.

Sometimes he wondered how he had gotten along without Mickey in the years that they had been apart. This small ritual that he’d adapted into his life since they’d gotten married - or really before that when they were still in prison and even prior to that when they had lived together the first time - felt as important as taking his medication or eating his coffee and toast for breakfast.

Many times when he woke up, Mickey was pressed against his chest as the little spoon. Ian would never tell him this, but he liked when he woke up to find Mickey cuddled against his chest as if that’s where he was meant to be. 

As if he were made to rest there forever.

Sometimes during the night Ian would turn to face the door and Mickey cuddled into his back. Ian liked those nights because they made him feel so cared for wrapped warmly in Mickey’s arms. It reminded him of those nights when he was feeling his most vulnerable and needed whatever comfort his husband was willing to offer him.

And every once and awhile Ian would wake up on his back with Mickey’s hand wrapped around his shoulder as if to prove he was still there. Or maybe it was to  _ keep _ him there, Ian could never fully decide. Those nights reminded him of so long ago when Mickey could hardly bring himself to touch him for fear that - well, from the fear of what a simple gentle touch between them would signify.

For those few minutes every morning - weekends to the week days - Ian would stare at him. He’d take in his long dark eyelashes resting against his skin. His usually expressive eyebrows were lowered and relaxed; Smooth and uncaring. 

His pouty, pink lips would be parted as he breathed in and out. Sometimes, he’d wrinkle his nose and let out a little snuffle as he repositioned himself. Ian’s eyes would drag down from his face to his hands - one of Ian’s favorite parts of Mickey - to take in the shiny ring cutting off the U in UP. 

The evidence of that shiny ring on his finger reminded Ian (like he actually needed reminding) that they were  _ husbands _ . 

And he’d feel a jolt of emotion when he saw the gold band. 

Like the feeling he’d get so very long ago everytime the bell over the door of the Kash N Grab rang and Mickey sauntered through it as if he was the biggest baddest on the South Side. 

(And he was, but Ian wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him that. At least not when they weren’t fucking and he wanted to rile Mickey up.)

_ Fucking husbands. _

Six months in and Ian still couldn’t believe it. 

His 15 year old self would pass the fuck out if he knew he’d locked down Mickey Milkovich. He would’ve demanded to know every twist and turn in their story to understand exactly how he’d been lucky enough to just get Mickey Milkovich to kiss him let alone fucking  _ marry him _ .

Sometimes Ian still didn’t understand how he’d landed his husband.

Slowly, he uncurled himself from Mickey and began to get ready for his shift at the Amazon warehouse - probably one of his most hated jobs he’d had in his life. He’d only been working there for a month or so, but his hands were constantly covered in blisters from lifting heavy boxes and more times than not - according to Mickey - he smelled from sweat due to all of the manual labor. 

Once Mickey said that he ‘smelled like Iggy’s old sock drawer,’ but most of the time, he complained that he carried the scent of a pig and he needed to ‘get his ass in the shower’ to wash off the day’s hard work. 

Ian wasn’t perturbed by Mickey’s comments because usually he jumped in the shower with him and if he was feeling in a  _ particular _ mood, he’d wash Ian’s back. (Among other things that always led to slippery shower sex.)

Ian had to put working at the Amazon warehouse on the same level as when he worked as a janitor after Mickey had gone to prison and he was battling a long bout with depression. In other words, a time he didn’t like to think about.

But unlike then, at least when he came home he was happy. 

Marriage was, well, marriage looked a lot like the rest of their relationship. There were moments where he wanted to fucking kill Mickey and there were times when Mickey wanted to kill him - Ian was pretty sure. 

They still fought a lot and sometimes Ian knew he said the wrong thing when Mickey gave him a particularly bitter look, but also by the end of each day, he felt so fucking settled. Like after finishing a good book. 

For the first time in probably ever, they weren’t racing against time. He didn’t have to watch what he said or did for fear that he would piss Mickey off enough to leave.

But Ian always thought that marriage would be - well, like the movies or something.

Everything would work out wonderfully and perfectly and life would be grand.

If last week’s fight about Ned was any indication, Ian could very positively say that neither of them knew what marriage consisted of (or romance, if he was getting into it), which pretty much left Ian feeling like he was treading water in the middle of the ocean with no idea how to get back to land.

He wanted to talk to Mickey about it, but he knew if he was feeling at a loss of what marriage was supposed to be, then his husband probably had even less of a clue.

Sometimes Ian thought about Mickey’s marriage to Svet and how strange that was. He couldn’t really use that as a blueprint for anything successful. Nor Kev and V’s marriage. Obviously, he couldn’t look at his parents marriage or Mickey’s parents… so yeah, movies and TV shows were probably the only way he’d have at least a rough sketch of what he wanted Mickey and his marriage to look like.

Did Mickey feel as lost as he was?

Was this something they should talk about?

_ Probably. _

He knew communication was a part of marriage, but well, they’d always communicated in their own special way. Through sex and violence and long lingering looks that made the air crackle.

And Ian was fine with that, but was it  _ supposed  _ to be like that?

_ Probably not. _

His morning routine since starting to work again looked pretty much the same; he took his meds, a quick shower, got dressed, and headed downstairs to start breakfast. He’d taken to making Mickey breakfast before he headed to work because, well, he wanted to be a good husband and once he’d seen a show where the husband made the wife breakfast in bed. (And he wasn’t giving into heteronormative relationship ideas, but he  _ did _ like the happy sleepy smile Mickey would give him when he woke up to Ian bringing him coffee and toast.) 

As Ian came down the stairs, he spotted a pile of mail sitting on the counter. Waiting for the coffee to brew, he began to sift through the pile to spot anything of interest. He nearly missed the hastily scribbled note on top of the mail. 

_ Ian...money? _

Dread filled his belly when Ian realized they were all bills.

Bills apparently that Debbie wanted him and Mickey to pay if her note was any indication.

Mortgage.

Water.

Heating.

WiFi.

Garbage.

The coffee he’d absentmindedly poured into a mug scolded his throat as he swallowed it down. With a heavy sigh, he put them back in the pile and ran a hand through his hair.

He hadn’t realized they had fallen this behind on everything. Debbie was the one who had nominated herself to take care of the bills, wanting to follow in Fiona’s footsteps. But it seemed as if she was... _ did she expect them to pay all of these?  _

They hadn’t been pulling their weight as much as Ian would like, but they had both been laid off from their jobs since the pandemic. 

He’d been meaning to talk to Mickey about pitching in more for the house. Since they were now both off of unemployment and Ian was back to work, they really need to figure out their budget. 

More importantly though, Ian wanted to help Mickey find something that he actually  _ liked _ doing for work. (It was probably easier to focus on Mickey’s work problems rather than focus on his own second failed attempt at achieving his dreams. But he wasn’t going to think about that now.) 

_ Or ever. _

He was currently ‘working’ at the laundromat down the block, but he wasn’t  _ really _ working there. Which meant that they weren’t bringing in as much money as they needed and Mickey was lounging around the house. Something that had started to seriously poke at Ian’s ire. 

He never saw Mickey as lazy. He’d always been a go-getter. From coming up with schemes to get money from lecherous old men to pulling off moving scams, Mickey had always been the brains of the Milkovich operations. He was smart, driven, and cunning, but since the pandemic hit and he lost his job at Old Army, he’d spent his days in front of the TV.

And Ian was slowly growing tired of supporting the both of them, but he wasn’t really sure how to bring it up. The truth of the matter was Mickey had no desire to work. Maybe Debbie’s passive aggressive note was just what he needed to raise the issue?

Initially, it wasn’t a big deal since they were both not working and got to rely on unemployment and the one stimulus check they got but now it was just...well, the bills were piling up and Ian wouldn’t get his first paycheck for a few weeks. 

The thing was when they had been living together the first time Ian couldn’t really remember how they were dealing with the money. (In truth, he couldn’t remember a lot of shit from that time since he was so discombobulated.) What he did remember was that Mickey was the one who dealt with all of it and paid the bills etc. but now since they were living in Ian’s family’s house, he’d become the go-to person to hand Debbie their portion of the money. 

Maybe he could ask him what exactly they’d done all those years ago to make it work in the Milkovich household? But then would that bring up uncomfortable topics for the both of them? 

Ian didn’t particularly want to rehash moments from way back then, like the porno they never talked about. He’d go out on a limb and venture that Mickey absolutely didn’t want to talk about Yev and Svet.

Since they didn’t have money on hand and these bills were due soon, Ian knew the only alternative would be the wedding money. The wedding money he didn’t want to touch since they had agreed it should be a cushion for a new apartment - although where they were going to find an apartment in the middle of a pandemic was a whole other issue.

The money Fiona had left them - Ian still never really got the full story about that - was long gone and even after working at his shitty warehouse job, he knew they weren’t going to bring in even half the amount Ian had been making as an EMT.

_ Don’t think about that. _

His now failed career as an EMT would forever haunt him - just like the army.

Ian set down his coffee mug harder than he’d meant to and moved toward the toaster when the bread popped up.

“Morning.”

Ian looked over to see Debs strolling in with Sandy in tow. Franny’s tiny feet could be heard on the steps.

“Hey,” he greeted. He pulled out the pieces of toast from the toaster and put them on a plate. He placed two additional pieces in the toaster and poured a cup of coffee for Mickey. He probably wasn’t going to be up for a while.

While they were both unemployed during the start of the pandemic, they’d gotten used to having breakfast together. It had been nice while it lasted. But they needed the money and since Mickey was doing everything he could to avoid helping out, it seemed to be up to Ian to figure out their money situation.

“You see the bills?” Debbie asked nodding to the pile on the counter.

Ian glanced over at her and then back down at the pile. Sandy was playing with Franny at the table, but he could tell she was listening to his response.

“Yeah, I saw. I’m not getting paid for another two weeks, Debs.”

Debbie frowned, “what about Mickey? I know that you guys were laid off--”

“We pitched in both of the stimulus checks and as much unemployment as we got, but since it’s all dried up--”

“I know, I know. It’s going to be tight this month, but I’m just - if you guys are living here, you gotta pull your weight. You know how it is.”

Ian nodded knowing the house rules, but it didn’t make it any easier to face his little sister and have her nag him about pitching in money. If he was feeling particularly petty, he could point out the fact that she’d spent most of the money from Fiona on who the fuck knows what, but starting a fight with her wasn’t going to make anything better.

“Yeah, I know. Listen, I gotta get to work, but we’ll pitch in. When’s the first bill due?”

“Next Wednesday. I have enough to cover it, but if you could get the water and the garbage bills that would be great,” Debbie said, giving him a polite smile.

Ian looked over toward Sandy who was strategically trying to ignore their conversation.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you later.” 

He tried to ignore the pit of dread that was starting in his stomach as he realized that he’d need to dip into the wedding cash to start paying the bills. He really wanted that money to stay as a cushion to help them get out of here and into a new apartment. But as he eyed the pile of bills, he knew that a desire of moving out was quickly becoming a pipe dream. 

Ian took the plate of toast upstairs and the two coffee mugs balanced precariously in his hands as he headed back to his room. He deposited the coffee mugs on the bedside table and the plate of toast in his lap. He still had a good 20 minutes before he needed to get going. As he sat back down, Mickey rolled a little closer to him and blinked sleepily awake. 

Mickey grinned up at Ian and tugged on his arm to signal that he should lean down and kiss him good morning. 

Forgetting about Debbie’s nagging, Ian leaned in and pressed his lips to his husband in greeting. For a moment, he relaxed despite the impending conversation they were going to have to have. He would think that after having more difficult conversations Ian wouldn’t be so nervous to bring up money with his husband, but he was and he wasn’t sure why.

“Morning,” Ian murmured against his lips.

Mickey grinned, “I’d say it’s a pretty good morning. Did you bring me breakfast in bed?”

Ian wordlessly handed him a coffee as he sat up and offered him toast. Mickey grinned around the mug and leaned back against the wall. Ian watched him and wished that he could crawl into bed with him instead of head to the Amazon warehouse, but the familiar anxiety began to tug in his belly.

_ What were they going to do for money?  _

It was an age old question that no matter what stage of his life he was in, it didn’t seem to go away. 

* * *

“Hey, Mick?”

Mickey looked up from his phone. Ian wondered if he had even gotten out of bed today, he was in much the same position as he’d been when he went to work. Except now he was wrapped up in that ugly as fuck robe that was twice the size of him.

Although despite the ugliness, Ian found it pretty adorable when his husband had to roll the sleeves up or pick it up while he walked to avoid falling.

“What?” Mickey asked. 

“Debbie’s been nagging me about bills,” Ian began. “Do you--”

“Nagging about bills? Why?” Mickey asked, mystified.

Ian frowned slightly, “because  _ we live here _ and need to chip in.”

“We just got married though. Don’t we get like a break or some shit? Can’t Debbie chill the fuck out?” Mickey grumbled.

Ian smirked at the request. Telling Debbie to chill out was something they’d been trying to get her to do for years. “We’ve been married for six months, Mick. We don’t get a break,” Ian paused to take a deep breath. “Listen, I don’t get paid for a few weeks--”

“So? Do you need me to rob--”

“No! No robbing!”

“Why not?” Mickey asked, setting his phone down and looking at Ian with raised eyebrows. “It would be easy money.”

Ian tried not to sigh in irritation at Mickey’s comment. Instead, he sat down on the bed and reached over to grasp Mickey’s hand. “We’re on parole.”

“Yeah, and? We need the money. I won’t get cau--”

“That’s not the point,” Ian looked down at their entwined hands. “Have you considered maybe getting a real job?”

“What the fuck Gallagher? Why would I do that?”

Ian couldn’t hold in his sigh anymore and looked up to find Mickey giving him an annoyed look.

“We need money.”

“Yeah, and I just told you a way to make some. Don’t be a little bitch about this.”

“I’m not being - I’m being pragmatic.”

“Pragmatic? Gallagher, you’re playing by rules that don’t apply to us. We live on the  _ South Side _ . We’re in a  _ pandemic _ . It’s eat or be eaten. I choose to eat.”

“Mickey--”

“Man, do we really have to talk about this right now? Is it an emergency? Is the house going to get repossessed or some shit?” Mickey whined.

Ian frowned and shook his head, “no, but--”

“Then go take a shower and give me a back rub.”

Ian raised an eyebrow at the request. “Shouldn’t _ I _ be getting the back rub? I’m the one who works all day.”

He scoffed and moved his hand out from under Ian’s and cupped the back of his neck. He scooted toward him and moved his head to meet Ian’s. 

Mickey tasted like chocolate and peanut butter - he’d gotten into Franny’s leftover Halloween candy if the empty wrappers on their bedside table was any indication - and Ian melted a little against him. The way he always did when Mickey kissed him.

Thoughts of money began to seep out of his mind and were replaced with the urge to get Mickey naked and underneath him as quickly as possible. 

When he went to remove Mickey’s rob, he stopped him and wrinkled his nose at Ian.

“Shower, you smell like a fucking pigpen.”

Ian opened his mouth to argue, but Mickey got off the bed and dragged him up to stand. Ian followed dutifully as they walked down the hallway toward the bathroom. He bit his lip to keep from laughing when Mickey nearly fell over from getting caught in the robe.

“We still need to talk about--” Ian started realizing that they had been having a conversation about something important.

Mickey pushed him over the bathroom threshold and slammed the door behind them. In a whirlwind of deep opened mouth kisses and clothing peeled from their bodies, the duo climbed into the tub and under the hot water. Ian wasn’t even sure how Mickey had time to start the shower when his hands had been busy clawing at his clothes.

“You fucking smell,” Mickey said fondly. Grabbing a bottle of body wash behind him, he began to lather up a loofah. 

Ian opened his mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, but before he could get a syllable out, Mickey pushed him under the spray of the water. He dragged Debbie’s stolen loofah across his skin and Ian shuddered at the sensation. 

Moving closer to Mickey to feel more of the soothing touch, Ian let out a little sigh as his husband began to massage the loofah across his chest. Taking a moment to feel the hot water on his skin, he reveled in his husband’s ministrations.

He closed his eyes as water and soap cascaded down his body. Mickey’s hand steadily guided the loofah over his skin while the other one wrapped around his lower back and rested on his ass. Mickey’s nails skimmed against his cheeks and bumps began to rise across his body in anticipation for what his husband was planning. 

“What did you do today?” Ian mused.

Mickey was spending a long time scrubbing his torso and grinned up at him when Ian reached forward and grabbed his hips to gain his attention.

“Nothing. Watched Liam and Franny do their online schooling.” Mickey gave a little shrug and gripped Ian’s arm to signal that he should turn around. 

Ian tilted his head back against the hot spray and let out a long relaxed breath. He felt the loofah running circles across his shoulders and then Mickey’s slick body pressing against his back. His hands replaced the loofah as he moved to wash his ass.

“You?” Mickey asked huskily.

Ian smirked at the breathlessness of Mickey’s voice. 

“Lifted boxes.”

He made a fist with his hand, feeling all of the blisters on his palms. He opened his hands and ran them under the hot water ignoring the sting.

Mickey’s hands were busy massaging his ass and taking even longer than he had with his chest. Ian turned around suddenly and grabbed Mickey’s shoulders to halt him. Mickey scowled at the sudden interruption, but Ian ignored him and pressed his lips to his mouth. 

Mickey made a tiny surprised noise. In response, Ian licked at the seam of Mickey’s mouth until he opened himself to him. Ian’s hands cupped the back of Mickey’s head, simultaneously angling him and bringing him closer. His tongue found Mickey’s and Ian could hear the little hitch in the back of his throat. 

He felt Mickey’s cock brush against his thigh and he pressed his lower half against Mickey’s stomach. He needed more friction. He needed to feel every inch of Mickey’s skin against his own. He needed to be inside Mickey. 

_ Now _ .

His cock was throbbing with need; knowing what came next as Mickey rubbed his hard dick on his inner thigh. Standing stiff, red, and ready to go, he gripped Mickey’s ass tightly and pressed his length to his own, so they brushed against one another.

Understanding what Ian was going for, Mickey bit his lower lip and wiggled his hand between them to take his cock in his hand. Distantly, Ian heard a wet plop of the loofah hitting the floor, but he was too preoccupied. Mickey was pumping him - once, twice, three times - and Ian’s throbbing dick was so hard it could cut glass.

Mickey continued to stroke him with one hand and the other he cupped his balls, massaging them in his firm grip. Not wanting to break away from massaging Mickey’s ass, he tightened his hold on those round cheeks he loved and bent his knee to nudge him in a signal to turn around. 

“What?” Mickey asked, smirking at him.

“Turn the fuck around,” Ian widened his stance and dug his nails into Mickey’s fleshy behind when Mickey continued to look at him in amusement.

“ _ Now _ , Mick. I want to take you from behind. Want to pound into you.”

Reluctantly moving his hands from Mickey’s ass, he scooted closer and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. He pulled away and squeezed Mickey’s hip to twist him around.

“Bend over now,” Ian throatily demanded. 

Mickey grinned lecherously at him and bent over so his ass was in the air and his hands were gripping the side of the tub. Ian rubbed his aching cock against his husband’s crack and he breathed out a shaky breath.

“I was going to blow you after you were clean, but this is better,” Mickey mused, shaking his ass a little as an invitation. The head of Ian’s cock crazed his hole and Ian let out a little ‘hmm’ of pleasure.

Chuckling, he said, “like you weren’t fucking planning this.”

Mickey’s shoulders moved up and down and Ian took that as a sign that he wasn’t going to argue about that fact. 

He gripped Mickey’s ass cheeks again, loving the heavy softness in his hands. Pulling them apart and together in his hands, he relished the feel of those soft pale cheeks in his hands.

He wanted to just slide into him, but he wasn’t sure how prepared Mickey was, so he slid one finger into him hoping the water was enough of a lubricant - even though he knew water sucked. Mickey tensed up but as he began to work his finger from the first knuckle to the second one, his shoulders fell a bit more and he relaxed.

“You been thinking about this all day?” Ian mused, wiggling his finger around once he was inside Mickey and down to his third knuckle. 

No matter how many times he first entered Mickey during their sex-capades, Ian would never get over how fucking  _ hot _ he was. The soft, velvety sensation that wrapped around his fingers and his cock. The heat that Mickey gave off. It was familiar and safe and fucking  _ beautiful _ every time he entered him.

Like he was seeing the world in color for the first time.

He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it.

Mickey grunted in reply and Ian grinned at the back of his neck. He moved his other hand where it was resting on his husband’s ass around to grab his cock and began to stroke him in time with his finger.

When Mickey’s grunts turned into breathy groans, he moved a second finger to join the first one and sped up his movement.

“Fuck, stop. Get in me, Ian,” Mickey moaned suddenly and arched his back. His hand was batting away Ian’s, despite the fact he’d barely started to tease him.

“Now? But--”

“I’m ready, just do it,” Mickey snapped.

Like he was ready to burst.

Like he was pissed that Ian wasn’t moving fast enough for him.

_ So it was like that, huh? _

Ian huffed out laughter and he pulled his fingers out of Mickey to angle himself against his ass hole. 

“Fucking bossy bottom.”

“You fucking know it, Gallagher. If you hadn’t insisted on talking, then maybe we could’ve gotten to this part faster,” Mickey whined.

Ian opened his mouth to tell him that if he had a job, then they wouldn’t have to have these conversations, but he knew they still would have money talks even if they both had jobs. And Ian also didn’t want to talk about that shit right now. He just wanted to--  _ oh yeah, just like that. _

He continued to fill Mickey as he pushed further and further until his hips were slotted against his ass.

“Fuck, I missed this,” Ian murmured.

“We fucked this morning,” Mickey responded through gritted teeth.

Ian grinned down at him and moved one of his hands to tug at his hair. He moved his head back to expose his neck and he leaned forward and nipped the flesh. Mickey let out a shuddering breath at the contact and Ian bit down a little harder. Licking a strip of the raw skin from his shoulder up to his ear, Mickey shivered against him. He pressed a kiss right to that area behind his ear that Mickey loved and made his breathing speed up.

“Yeah, but that was hours ago.”

Mickey let out a breathy chuckle that turned into a moan as he began to move in and out of him. He looked down to watch as his cock thrust into Mickey; loving the way it felt as he pushed into his husband again and again. He began to speed up. He racked his hand through his hair and yanked it a little harder just the way he knew he liked it. 

He wrapped his other hand around Mickey’s neck and gripped him just the right amount as he pounded into him. 

“Yeah, oh, fuck. Just like that,” Mickey gasped when Ian moved his hand from his hair to join his other one on his neck.

“You fucking like that, Mick?” 

“Mmmm, yeah. _Fuck_ _yeah_.”

Ian grinned and tightened his hold on his neck. He changed up his pace to be longer, deeper thrusts. Making sure to hit those spots inside his husband that made his knees buckle and his thighs shake. Mickey’s moans were gaining in volume and Ian knew he wasn’t being very quiet with his litany of ‘fucks’ he couldn’t stop saying. 

As Mickey got louder, Ian switched his pace to go a little faster. He moved one of his hands from his neck to smack his ass eliciting a surprised yowl from him.

“Fucking scream for me, power bottom.”

Mickey made a whinged noise and Ian slapped his ass again. The sound of his hand hitting Mickey’s wet bottom echoed off the bathroom walls. He moved his hand back to Mickey’s neck and began to roughly pound into him. 

Sliding in and out of him quickly, he could feel the telltale signs that he was close, causing him to begin to lose his rhythm. He moved his hands away from Mickey’s throat much to his protests and stood up a little straighter to gain better momentum. He gripped Mickey’s hip with one hand and wrapped the other around his cock.

“You close?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah,” Ian rasped out. The tingling sensation began to spread from his lower belly. Mickey shifted back, meeting him thrust for thrust and moved his legs a little wider so he could go even deeper. Ian groaned at the change in position.

“Fuck, Mick, fuck. I wanna -  _ fuck _ ,” he groaned. He continued to stroke Mickey’s cock. Distantly, he heard him tell Ian he was coming right as his vision blacked out and he felt as if he were floating, filling his husband’s ass as he reached his orgasm. He heard himself let out a low husky sound as he crunched over and covered Mickey’s body with his. 

He stayed there for a brief moment as he tried to regain his breath. His legs felt shaky as he stood up straighter and pumped a few more times as he slowly deflated. 

Leisurely, he withdrew himself from Mickey and gripped the wall as he struggled to get his bearings back. Turning around, Mickey stole his breath away as he kissed him thoroughly.

“Come on, still gotta wash you off,” he said, pushing him back under the water.

Ian was in a daze as Mickey washed him off and successfully distracted him from any other worries for the night. 

* * *

It was strange to be dealing with normal people problems in comparison to all the other bullshit they’d had to deal with over the years. Money issues were such an  _ average _ issue for married couples to deal with (Ian looked it up) but that didn’t make it any easier to talk about. 

(Although, Ian looked that up too. And so far, he hadn’t found anything that really applied to him and Mickey. Surprisingly, it was difficult to find articles on how to talk your husband out of committing felonies to keep food on their table because his job barely paid anything.)

Sometimes Ian had a hard time figuring out what was going through his husband’s head. Most of the time, Ian could pinpoint exactly what Mickey was thinking. He could tell when he was right about to step over the line and blow up at someone. He could tell when he was being particularly frustrating because he wanted to get a rise out of Ian. And he could definitely tell when Mickey was horny. 

But as much as he could read his husband, there were times when he was a wild card. 

And Ian liked and disliked it.

On the upside, it made it more fun.

On the downside, Mickey was unpredictable.

Which is why he was so fucking blown away when he went to the box where they had been stashing the wedding cash to find that it was filled with IOUs written in Mickey’s squiggly handwriting.

_ Fucking IOUs. _

Right after the wedding, Ian had sat down with Mickey and asked him, “what do you want to do with the money?”

“Let’s do something fun,” Mickey said.

“Or we could be responsible and start putting it away for an apartment.”

“An apartment?” Mickey asked with a scowl.

Ian nodded sagely as he stowed away the checks and cash they had been given from their friends and relatives. Most of the shit they got for the wedding was money, but they’d also gotten a few items from Ian’s family and Sandy. (Sandy had gifted them the hotel room.)

Ian figured that was the end of the conversation because Mickey didn’t argue with him about it. In fact, he just raised his eyebrows at Ian and watched as he put all of their cash in the box where it stayed - at least where Ian  _ thought _ it stayed - until he opened it up to pay some of their bills.

The thing was Ian wasn’t exactly surprised to find the money missing.

He was more surprised - when he overanalyzed it later he  _ might _ say hurt - to find that Mickey had spent it on who the fuck knew what when they could’ve been preparing to move the fuck out of this house.

This house that he was never supposed to stay in after he hit 18.

And now here he was at 24 years of age with his husband who seemed completely okay with living in a house in a tiny as fuck bedroom for the rest of their lives.

A bedroom that would’ve caused the both of them to kill each other if they hadn’t lived in a tinier cell before this.

Ian doubted lack of space, privacy, or even being locked in together were going to break them up.

He could also take mental illness, crazy fathers, self-hatred, and wives off that list too.

But what might make Ian crazy enough to break up with him was fucking laziness and spending money that was  _ theirs  _ on pointless shit _. _

(Who was he kidding? If he hadn’t eliminated Mickey from his system in the last 10 years of being with him on and off, this shit wasn’t going to break them.)

Still though,  _ what the fuck? _

Living in the Gallagher house, he knew that there was a high possibility of coming back to where he hid money just to find that it was gone. He remembered being 16 years old when Monica had stolen the squirrel fund. Or the time when he was 10 when Frank had found his paper route money and blew it all on coke. He’d been saving that to buy school supplies.

Ian knew that Mickey was good for the money. And really it wasn’t completely all about the money. Money was, well, it came and went and right now it was stressing him the fuck out, but there was something else that was playing into his frustrations too. 

He was more focused on Mickey’s quick fixes to their problem, which were primarily illegal things that could get him thrown back in prison. 

Ian loved Mickey for who he was. He loved everything about his husband, but he meant what he said. He wasn’t going to be a fucking prison widow and taking the bus up to visit him every fucking weekend. He wanted to put all of that prison shit behind them. They had both gotten a lucky break getting out earlier than they had thought and Ian didn’t want to go anywhere near a prison ever again. 

And Ian might get why he keeps taking the easy route - he does get it because it’s easy and familiar - but he doesn’t want Mickey to go back to, well, being  _ Mickey Milkovich _ .

The more that Ian thought about Mickey going back to prison because of trying to make money, the more he got pissed off about him taking all the money for their wedding and using it on who the fuck knows what. Because they wouldn’t be in this mess if Mickey had just worked the job at the laundromat instead of threatening the guy to say he had a job. 

The entire way to work he thought about how confident Mickey was to step back into his former life. It was like the idea of being separated from him again didn’t even  _ register _ with Mickey. 

Sometimes Ian thought about the conversation they had when they were young during the summer that everything seemed possible.

_ I’m fucked for life, Gallagher. _

Ian wondered if he still thought that. Sometimes Ian thought Mickey did. His actions today possibly even hinted at that. Maybe this was just an opening for Ian to try to confront him about what Mickey wanted their future to look like - what he wanted their marriage to look like. Because now that they were married, their future was intertwined. 

And Ian wanted that future to be long.

As he got off the L and headed toward the Amazon warehouse, Ian made a mental note to ask Doris about marriage and what it really meant. 

She was married, right? Maybe that would help him understand what the fuck they were supposed to be doing. 

* * *

Mickey didn’t understand his husband. Why was he being such an asshole about money? It was just money. It came and went. Sometimes they had a lot of it. Like when they got the stimulus checks and the unemployment. Something they had none of it. If they were really in a bind, Mickey knew that Ian would be planning with him, not nagging. Cause when the going got rough, Ian got his hands dirty. It was only when they had room to do ‘the right thing’ Ian opted to do, well,  _ the right thing _ .

Mickey liked the path of least resistance.

In the past, Ian never cared about money. Well, he probably did, but Mickey was the one to deal with all that shit. A distant memory of Ian doing a porno to make money for them, but he quickly chased it away.

The thing was Mickey offered to get them money. But it seemed like Ian wanted him to  _ change _ to make money, instead of doing it his way.

Mickey knew if it was an emergency, then he bet Ian would be all like, “hey, Mick...can you do that thing you do?”

Okay, he wouldn’t say it like that, but still. 

He’d be asking for Mickey to do some illegal shit.

_ Right? _

Ian couldn’t possibly think that he was going to follow rules and be normal right?

_ Right? _

Boring checkout jobs and shit weren’t what Mickey envisioned doing. Ever. He’d known for his whole life he was fucked, just cause he was married didn’t mean he automatically got a job and changed who he was.

He loved Ian.

He was out because of Ian.

He was happy.

But that didn’t mean he had to be all rule-abiding and shit.

He hadn’t ever really envisioned himself doing much of anything except for stealing shit and robbing joints. Maybe drug dealing too, but he didn’t like the late nights when he could be spending time with Ian.

Security was the only thing he’d ever really been good at.

He enjoyed telling people what to do.

He liked intimidating people.

Always had.

Always would.

Maybe he could do that?

But no one was calling him up to do security for them, so that was off the table. And while Mickey was proud - or whatever - of Carl of becoming a police officer, Mickey would rather chop his own dick off than become a cop. 

Which really brought him back to square one; he wasn’t good at anything.

Ian might be happy working a 9-5 job for $2 an hour, but Mickey knew he was worth more than that - and Ian was too, but he was focused on doing everything ‘the right way.’ And the right way in America was basically working yourself into the ground for next to no money. Mickey wasn’t going to be like one of those fuckers, but that didn’t solve their lack of money problem.

Which meant that Mickey probably should start scheming and planning.

It was strange, though.

When they were living together in the Milkovich house a million years ago, he was a fucking pimp and Ian didn’t give a shit. Now, Ian was all about being overly cautious and making money the  _ legal _ way instead of the easy - and all around better - way.

Mickey didn’t want to change to appease Ian - that’s not what their relationship was about. But it seemed as each day after their discussion about money passed, Ian became edgier and edgier. 

That might be cause Debbie was nagging him or because the due date of the bills were coming closer. It could also be the fact that Mickey had spent what Ian termed as their ‘cushion money’ from their wedding. 

It was anyone’s guess.

Mickey did want to help out. He wanted to make money and contribute. Who wouldn’t growing up on the South Side after struggling his entire life? But the thing was, he had no idea how to make money if he wasn’t scheming rich fuckers. 

Especially when no one would hire him.

He’d worked like two fucking legal jobs.

Security at Kash N Grab and fucking Old Army.

He could get his old boss to write him a recommendation letter, but he’d been pissed when they closed the store and tried to get out of paying them all unemployment. So he may have said some shit.

The point was he had no skills  _ legal _ jobs needed.

He would like to tell Ian this, but he also - well, Ian had a history of being with guys who are well off or rich or whatever. Maybe not Kash, but from what Mickey understood Kash took care of him, bought him shit. (Like that ugly ass red and black coat.) 

Mickey wanted to take care of Ian, but without doing illegal shit, he wasn’t really sure how to do that. He had looked at possible job openings after Ian found out about the IOUs, but he hadn’t been successful.

So he headed down to the laundromat and while the guy in charge was still scared shitless of him, he didn’t offer him a job. (He had given him $50 to go away, but Mickey didn’t really count that as a job.)

Which is probably why when Ian said, “hey, Mick, let’s go talk out on the front porch.”

Mickey felt that familiar icy coldness slide into his gut. The dread that he always associated with something terrible happening next. 

He had it when he finally got Ian on the phone just for him to break up with him all those years ago. He got it when Ian wouldn’t sign the fucking marriage certificate at city hall. He could even remember getting it when Ian came by before he ran off to the army to ‘see Mandy.’ (Mickey had never really bought that as an excuse. He always  _ knew _ Ian had come by to say goodbye in his weird roundabout way.)

Now, as they sat on the steps, neither of them talking, Mickey was tempted to break the silence, but his mouth had gone dry.

“You want a beer?” Ian asked finally.

Mickey nodded and Ian hurriedly got up and went back inside. He breathed a sigh of relief since they now had a few extra minutes before whatever Ian wanted to talk about would be put out into the world. He knew it probably had something to do with the IOUs, but he honestly couldn’t give a shit when it was just money. 

They’d figure it out. 

They always had.

They had faced a lot worse shit than not being able to afford a few bills (and really they  _ could _ afford the bills, if Ian just let him do things his way).

“We need to be honest with each other. No more secrets,” Ian said handing him one beer.

He’d even opened it for him. Mickey took a long sip of it and hoped that the familiar taste would help him calm his nerves. As he drank his beer, Ian began to babble about marriage and expectations. And secrets.

As if Mickey had any secrets that Ian didn’t know.

Well, maybe, while he was down in Mexico.

And maybe how he’d gotten some of their money for the wedding.

There were some things that Ian didn’t really need to know.

“It’s also about what we want the marriage to be,” Ian said resting his hand on Mickey’s knee.

Mickey didn’t fully understand what that meant. What was marriage supposed to be other than taking care of each other and staying together forever?

A long ago memory came to the surface as Mickey drank his beer and he thought about how it was almost ironic that they were talking about marriage in the place Ian had broken up with him years earlier when he’d tried to explain what he wanted their  _ relationship  _ to look like. And now it was Ian telling  _ him  _ what he wanted their  _ marriage _ to look like.

_ The irony. _

Mickey wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh at the asinine situation or cry at how fucking far they’d come.

And then Gallagher mentioned rules.

He fucking hated rules.

Gallagher knew that.

A familiar sinking sensation began in his stomach as he thought yet again about how Ian was trying to change him. 

And then mono-whatever the fuck came up and an age old fear began to take shape in Mickey’s heart.

Was Ian bored already?

Why would he throw out mono-whatever-the-fuck like that?

Was he thinking about cheating?

Mickey had so many questions filtering through his head, but instead of point blank asking Ian what the fuck he was talking about, he said:

“We just talking fucking or are we talking blowjobs too?”

And Ian’s face seemed to crumble at the suggestion of him getting a blowjob by someone else. (Which really serves him right because somewhere out there in the world there was a porno of his husband with some other guy, but that was besides the point.)

“I think blowjobs should count too.” 

Mickey watched him and tried to read what was going through Ian’s head. He couldn’t tell if Ian was into the idea of mono-whatever-the-fuck or if he was just trying to placate Mickey. So after staring at the side of his head for a few seconds - that felt like hours - he figured he’d just ask him.

“You really don’t want to fuck anyone else?”

Mickey wished he’d just say ‘no’ and leave it at that. He wished that he’d say what some people might think was some romantic bullshit and kiss him, putting this whole situation behind them.

But no. 

His husband was Ian Gallagher.

Ian Gallagher who didn’t know when to shut up.

Instead he gave him some bullshit answer about how he  _ might  _ want to fuck other people but he doesn’t want Mickey to fuck other people.

Which to Mickey was just fucked up because he remembered all too well sitting and waiting until the early hours of the morning for Ian to come home to find out he’d done a porno.

(And yeah they needed the money, but  _ what the fuck? _ )

(Ian wasn’t going to turn to porn again, right? If they couldn’t pay Debbie for their half of the bills? That wasn’t on the table,  _ right _ ?)

Sometimes when Mickey was watching porn and he saw a redhead, for a moment, he’d worry that it was Ian. He freeze for a moment as he wondered if he’d have to endure watching his husband take it up the ass from some other dude. It was a fear he’d had to live with and Ian’s shitty answer just made that fear bubble to the surface.

Which is why he wrote  _ fucking other people _ on the tiny piece of paper instead of monogamy the way Ian had - surprisingly - done.

* * *

Later that night after they’d gotten home from helping - more like partying - at Lip’s, Mickey was already cuddled into bed playing a video game on his phone and waiting for Ian to join him. He was still a little sore from last night, but that didn’t mean they were going to break their streak of fucking every night since they got married. 

(Although, there was that week when the pandemic first started and Ian had dipped dangerously low from all the stress and turmoil, but Mickey didn’t count that.)

The strawberry lube was already beside Mickey and he was going back and forth on rescuing the ball gag from the basketball net when the accordion door opened. 

“Fucking finally, I’m prepped and ready to go Fire--”

“The fuck is this?” Ian demanded.

Mickey looked up from the video game he was playing to see Ian holding up a scrap of paper.

“What?”

“What the fuck?”

“I don’t fucking--”

“ _ Fucking other people?”  _ Ian read off the paper.

Mickey’s stomach flip-flopped. “I thought you--”

“You think _ I _ want to fuck other people? I wrote  _ monogamy _ ! I wrote fucking monogamy! Why would you think that? Do  _ you _ want to fuck other people?”

Mickey scowled as Ian’s voice began to raise. He was so not in the mood to deal with whatever drama Ian was trying to stir up right now. He had plans to get fucked and go to bed. He was tired of dealing with Ian and his focus on making sure everything was exactly the way he wanted it. Nagging him until Mickey did what Ian wanted. This wasn’t how he wanted to end their night. He thought they were good when they got to Lip’s with the way Ian was hanging all over him.

“Don’t fucking do that. Don’t act like you’ve never fucked other people while we were dating. You fucked a lot of guys while I was--”

“You’re really going to throw that in my face? Are you going to be reminding me about that 30 fucking years from now?” Ian snarled.

“Are you going to be bitching about money and IOUs for the rest of our lives? So I wrote fucking other people. Whatever. It was just - it’s not a big deal. It’s not like I’m  _ actually _ fucking other guys. I’m not out there trolling fucking super markets or wherever people fucking meet each other these days. I’m fucking  _ here _ aren’t I?”

“That’s not the point! I don’t fucking know what you want because you’re not communicating with me. First, you spend all of the wedding money. We don’t have any money to pay--”

“Not this again! I told you that I’d go rob--”

“ _ No more illegal shit! _ How many fucking times do I need to say that? I don’t want to be a fucking prison widow.”

Mickey glowered at him and Ian matched his deadly glare back. For a few minutes, the room was silent. 

They could hear Franny and Debbie yelling down the hall, and for a split second, Mickey was reminded that there were other people in the house. But in their bedroom, it was like they were in their own little bubble. Sometimes Mickey wondered if they ever actually left. It was like they moved with their bubble around them.

Which is why Mickey thought this conversation was so fucking stupid.

Didn’t Gallagher get that he only saw him?

Didn’t he fucking understand that?

And Mickey had known from 15 year old Ian’s puppy-love-starry-eyed gaze that he only had eyes for him since day one.

Didn’t their years of being pulled back together like magnets mean anything?

Wasn’t that some kind of sign - an indication that they were each other’s endings?

Mickey could tell him.

He could point out all the ways in which Ian being pissed off about monogamy and money was pointless.

They were where they should be so why even try to go anywhere else? They both knew that they were stuck together.

But that didn’t make any of this shit easier.

Especially opening himself repeatedly to Ian.

Like slicing his heart open again and again and willingly handing Ian the bloody insides.

Piece by piece.

He knew it was only a small amount of time before he sliced off another part of his heart and handed it over because this was  _ Ian Gallagher. _

(Who was he kidding, Ian had held his entire heart in his hands since he was 17 years old and he was fooling himself if he thought he ever got it back. Or ever would.)

And he’d do anything for him.

Including getting a legal fucking job.

Mickey wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do though. He didn’t know how to tell Ian, he of many skills, how his best skills were embedded in scheming, scamming, and manipulating. He wasn’t - he wasn’t going to pretend he was something he wasn’t, even if Ian did.

“What the fuck is up with this prison widow shit? Why do you think I’ll be caught?” Mickey inquired finally.

Ian let out a derisive laugh and rubbed a hand across his face.

“Do I need to remind you of the time you got caught after the shit with Sammi? Or what about when you purposefully went to juvie--”

“Fuck, seriously? You’re bringing  _ that _ shit up? Don’t be such a fucking bitch, Gallagher. That was like 10 years ago.”

“I’m just asking you to get a regular job to contribute to our future. And all you want to do is live like we’re teenagers again and steal and rob and--”

“You never had a problem with it before.”

“We were kids! I didn’t have to worry about you going away  _ for life _ . But I’m not going back to prison and I don’t want  _ you _ to go back to prison, so just get a fucking job, okay? Stop being a fucking asshole about this shit.”

Mickey opened his mouth to argue and then closed it with an audible snap. He wanted to tell him that he didn’t feel like he was good at anything besides doing thug shit, but it was late and he didn’t really want to slice his heart open (just yet) for Ian to analyze it or whatever.

Maybe if he was feeling a little less raw, he’d ask Ian for his help in getting a job, but he didn’t want to see that I-told-you-so smirk on his husband’s face. 

Why couldn’t he just leave him alone? Why did he want to change him so badly?

Instead, he said, “are you done? Can we fuck now?” 

Ian opened his mouth and then closed it. He opened his mouth again and then snapped it shut. Finally, his lips curled up slightly and he shook his head as if he were having an internal battle with himself. 

And since Mickey was so fucking done with this conversation, he crawled across the bed and tugged Ian’s wrist so he could join him on the bed.

Without hesitation, Ian met him halfway as their lips joined. Pushing Mickey down, he laid back on the bed as his husband hovered over him.

“I’m still mad at you,” Ian muttered against his lips.

Mickey huffed out laughter and flipped them over so he was straddling Ian’s waist.

“Yeah?” Mickey ground down on Ian’s cock and leered at him. “I don’t like you very much right now either.”

Ian grinned salaciously at him. Moving his hands to his waist, he pushed him down a little harder to grind against him again. “You don’t like me? Well, I fucking hate you.”

Mickey stared into those green eyes searching for any truth there. He couldn’t help it, sometimes he worried that he’d pushed Ian too far and he  _ would  _ start hating him. But all he saw reflected back at him was love, adoration,  _ fondness.  _ All those other mushy fucking words Ian went on about after their argument about being romantic.

(Although, Mickey didn’t want to mention it at the time, but he thought they had plenty of fucking romantic moments. Like the time he beat up the geriatric viagroid or the time Ian beat up Byron. He’d count their reunion at the docks after he broke out of jail on that list too.)

As if sensing his hesitation, Ian pulled him down for a kiss.

It was one of Mickey’s favorite ones. Ian had his head cradled in his hands. His chin was tilted up a few inches and his tongue dipped into Mickey’s mouth to twist and explore in such a way that made his entire body tingle. His breath was taken away the way it always was when Ian kissed him like that.

“Fucking hate when you do that,” Mickey lied when they pulled away.

Ian gave him a mocking look in response. His eyes were extra green and the pupils were so big they looked like eight balls (the pool ball, not the drug amount). 

Mickey shifted his hips back and forth slowly into a circle. He could already feel the bulge in his pants. He continued to rock his body back and forth. Ian’s hands tightened on his hips.

“Fuck, Mick. Fine. Won’t do that shit again. No more kissing.” Ian was arching his hips upward as Mickey’s ass rocked back against where his hard cock was straining against his jeans.

“As fucking if, Gallagher. You love all that sappy shit. Fucking soft,” Mickey mocked. Slowly, he was beginning to inch his way down his body. 

They were much too clothed for this.

As if reading his mind, he felt a tug on his shirt and looked up to see Ian pulling it over his back. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” Ian commanded.

Those green eyes were iridescent.

Mickey grinned and began to strip.

Ian began to wiggle out of his own clothes and quickly they were back in the same position this time completely naked. Ian’s cock was standing at attention in front of him as he sat back on his thighs. 

He grinned. “No more kissing huh?”

He bent down and blew on the tip of his dick. Ian let out a groan and wetness began to leak from him.

“Tell me how much you hate kissing,” Mickey said. He rested his hands on Ian’s thighs and leaned forward to lick his cock.

Ian’s breath above him was ragged and Mickey loved every haggard sound that escaped him.

“Keep doing that and you’ll be sitting in my lap in five fucking seconds,” Ian threatened.

Mickey would’ve believed him if he didn’t look so torn apart by the anticipation mounting between them. 

Licking again at his cock, he squeezed his thighs and moved to wrap his lips around the slick head. Ian’s cock always felt so heavy and thick in his mouth. And despite the length, he didn’t feel overwhelmed by how fucking big he was as he worked his mouth around the red, hot skin.

Moving his head up and down, he began to hear Ian babble above him.

He heard things like: 

_ “Mick, you’re fucking awesome.” _

_ “Fucking love this.” _

_ “Fucking incredible.” _

_ “Suck harder.” _

_ “Yeah, take my cock - just like that.” _

Pulling away, Mickey moved one hand to cup Ian’s balls and the other to stroke the slickness up and down his cock. 

“Thought I told you to tell me how much you hate kissing.”

Ian let out a choked sound when Mickey went back to sucking him. He could feel Ian’s hands racking through his hair as he began to bob up and down.

And then he heard him.

“Fucking hate how you make those breathy noises. And how you bite my lip exactly when I want you to. I - I -  _ fuck _ , I hate that everything else in the world disappears. I hate that you taste so good. So fucking - oh, god, Mick. Fuck yeah like - like that.”

Mickey sucked hard on the head of his cock as he ran his fist down from his mouth to the base. He moved away to ask, “what else?” Before returning to his original position.

“Fuck -  _ yes _ , you’re so - I fucking hate how you - how you start off rough and get softer. Fucking lo - hate how you let out that little surprised gasp when I kiss you and you’re not expecting it. Fucking hate that I wonder if I take your breath away like - like, I’m close. Shit. Stop I gotta - not yet.”

Mickey hollowed out his lips until he came off Ian with a loud pop. He wiped away the side of his mouth and grinned at him triumphantly.

“You need anything?” Ian asked. He was already tugging Mickey back up to his mouth. He planted a hot, wet kiss on his lips and then tossed Mickey on the bed beside him. Mickey bounced from the impact and reached for Ian. He was too far away for his liking..

“Wait, stay there,” Ian ordered.

Mickey scowled at him, but his limbs dropped to the bed.

Ian slowly crawled up his body until he was face to face with Mickey. He gave him a knowing look and then pressed his lips to his. Mickey made a tiny gasp of surprise at the unexpected content and wrapped his knees around Ian’s waist to bring him closer. He moved his hips up to rub his length against Ian’s.

Ian shuddered against him as their hard cocks touched one another. Quickly, Ian grabbed the lube on the bed beside him and squirted some onto his fingers. He pressed his coated finger against Mickey’s pink hole and began to open him up. 

Mickey’s thighs quivered around Ian as he pushed his finger in deeper and then added a second one. The way his husband was curing his fingers and pressing into that spot inside of him was making his toes curl and his back arch.

“Yes, yes, fuck. Get in me. Ian, I want your cock in me now.” 

“Not ready yet.”

Mickey didn’t need to open his eyes to see him smirking.

“Fuck, Ian--”

In response, Ian added a third finger. Mickey could hear his heart beating loudly as the familiar stirrings of desire washed over his body. His body was growing warmer with every thrust of his finger..

“Give it to me. Ian, fuck me. Get in me, Dom Top Daddy.” Mickey reached blindly for him. He could hear Ian laughing and if he wasn’t so desperate right now for Ian’s dick, he’d fucking punch him.

_ Maybe after. _

Ian’s fingers were quickly replaced by his cock and he pushed into him in one swoop. 

_ Thank fucking God. _

He didn’t even give Mickey time to adjust before he began to roughly pound into him.

“What do you want me to do?” Ian demanded.

“Fuck me. Harder. Yes, like that. Fuck - give it to me, Dom Top Daddy. Yes. Oh, fuck,” Mickey wasn’t even registering what he was saying as Ian continued thrusting into him again and again. 

“Oh, fuck, you’re such a little slut taking it the way you do. You take it so well. So fucking good. You’re such a slut for my cock, aren’t you Mick? Fucking taking it so good. Such a power bottom,” Ian rambled as he pounded into him. 

He was leaning over him. Ian’s head was buried in the area between Mickey’s shoulder and his neck. His breath tickled his skin and Mickey drew him in closer. In response, Ian’s hands clasped tighter around his shoulders to keep him in one place. Mickey rested his head against Ian’s damp shoulder and breathed in the salty sweetness that rolled off of him. His feet were digging into Ian’s thighs as he pounded into him. 

His cock was extra sensitive as it got friction from their stomachs rubbing together. His thrusts were vigorously pace, but making sure to go deep so they both felt the movement down to their toes. Ian was hitting him again and again exactly in that place that made him want to grab on to something to steady himself.

He racked his hand through Ian’s hair and hid his head into the side of his neck so his hot breath covered his skin. Mickey yanked Ian’s head up to meet his mouth and they were kissing thoroughly and breathlessly. Ian’s paced slowly as they both got lost in each other’s mouths. Ian was the first to pull away and grinned down at him.

“Not yet.”

Mickey was confused for a moment, until Ian’s hands grabbed his thighs and hoisted them higher up to change the angle. When Ian began to move again, Mickey’s toes curled from the new, deeper sensation. He arched his back off the bed and whimpered. Meeting Ian thrust for thrust, he could feel sweat pooling as his body grew hotter and hotter. He was making moaning noises. His heart was beating in his ears. He reached between them and whimpered when Ian batted his hand away.

“Mine,” Ian growled and began to stroke him.

He only had to do it a few times before Mickey was coming. Thick, ropes of white covered his belly. Mickey’s eyesight went black and slowly came back after his orgasm. Ian was still plowing into him and Mickey leaned up to kiss him, biting his bottom lip. The gesture caused (at least in Mickey’s mind) for Ian to stiffen up and let out a low groan as he finally joined Mickey over the edge.

* * *

When Ian was seven years old, he bit another kid (his former best friend Tommy Gilpin), which caused him to go to the principal’s office. She tried and tried and tried to get him to open up about why he’d bitten his former best friend. But Ian wouldn’t budge. He sat there for a good two hours while she tried to coax him. But he was a Gallagher and if a Gallagher knew anything, it was that when they were told to do something, they’d naturally did the opposite. 

And even at seven years old, he wasn’t going to be Principal Macintire’s bitch.

She tried to get ahold of Monica and Frank, but they had disappeared on a bender and they didn’t have a landline so it was impossible. (Which led to the first time they were placed in Foster Care, but that was a whole other issue.) 

Ian had continuously been told throughout his years - at least until he got better at hiding it - that he needed to talk more. That talking would be good to let out his emotions. That he could be a great communication, if he tried harder.

Which is probably why he liked English class so much. He liked being able to say things without actually saying them.

However, if he thought he was bad at communication, he had nothing on Mickey.

And this was something he knew.

He’d known this since he was 15 years old and he asked the simple question of “so was this a booty call?”

Every time that Ian tried to bring up money and the IOUs after their initial fight, Mickey rebuffed him.

_ “Not in the mood for your whining, Gallagher.” _

_ “Stop, go grab me a beer would you?” _

_ “I told you I’d repay it. Stop fucking bitching.” _

_ “You’re being a little bitch, Ian.” _

_ “Are you going to get on me or are you going to continue bitching about bills?” _

The last was Ian’s favorite, which wasn’t saying much. He tried, he really did. But he could feel himself losing his patience with Mickey. And when he lost his patience, he probably got as mean as Mickey was being. 

He wasn’t fucking around anymore.

Mickey needed to get his shit together.

Which is why he called Mickey out in front of the whole family at breakfast.

“I’m not trying to support a husband.”

And yeah, taking sex off the table wasn’t his brightest move. But it was his only bargaining chip.

(Okay, maybe he could’ve taken cuddling off the table, but he was pretty sure if he said that then Mickey would go ballistic and murder him in front of everyone.)

And as annoyed as he was at Mickey for calling his dick ‘nasty’ he knew that if he said ‘no more cuddling’ he’d be even more of a hypocrite than it would be to take cuddling off the table. It was an even bigger lie than no more sex.

Because they slept in a tiny as fuck room, in a tiny bed, and sleeping like a swirled ice-cream cone was just something that they did. Mickey wrapped around him or vice versa was how they went to bed every night.

There was no more to the story.

That was just them.

And Ian knew that his no sex edict wasn’t going to last. 

He  _ knew _ that. 

But he wanted Mickey to take this seriously. 

If he had to be petty and an asshole to get him to get a job, then that was just something they were both going to have to live with.

At least that’s what Ian kept telling himself as he stopped back in their room to grab his shit to leave for work.

“You really want me to work at your shitty warehouse job?” Mickey asked from his position on the bed. 

If Ian didn’t know him as well as he did, he’d mistake him glaring at his phone for actually playing a video game, but he  _ did _ know him and he  _ knew _ that he was still pissed off about their tiff downstairs in front of the family. He just didn’t want to admit it and Ian already knew he’d put his foot in it too many times already today.

_ And it’s only 8am. _

“I’m just asking--”

“Yeah, yeah for me to get a fucking job. Like it’s that easy having a criminal record and--”

“I’m not asking you to be a fucking doctor--”

“No, no, that’s just what you  _ wish _ I was,” Mickey spat.

Ian frowned, “that’s not--”

“Don’t you have to go to work? Aren’t you going to be late? Don’t want you to get fired cause then we’ll really be  _ fucked _ since  _ apparently _ we’re not a team anymore and there’s only  _ your _ money and  _ my _ money.”

Ian swallowed thickly, “I didn’t mean that. I’m just - fuck - do you want to live here forever?”

Mickey finally looked up at him and gave a half-assed shrug. Ian had learned long ago that in the language of Mickey Milkovich that meant ‘maybe I fucking do. Maybe I fucking don’t.’ Like it wasn’t up to him, even though it  _ actually fucking was. _

They could do whatever they wanted.

(As long as it followed their parole rules.)

_ Why couldn’t Mickey see that? _

“Well, I don’t. I want us to get our own place. I want us to be - to be like a real married couple.”

“We  _ are _ a real married couple!” Mickey snapped.

“Yeah, but--”

“Don’t you gotta go make some of  _ your _ money?” 

Ian gritted his teeth and watched as Mickey turned back to his phone. He watched him for a minute and then quickly - too quickly for Mickey to respond - he kissed him on the top of his head and left the room.

* * *

Mickey hated how he was on the L, mask covering his face, as he headed toward Ian’s warehouse. Fucking  _ Amazon  _ warehouse.

As if he were going to fucking Wall Street.

He hated how he was guilted into doing this shit cause he wanted Ian to be - to be  _ proud _ or whatever of him. But he  _ especially _ hated that he was actually doing what Ian asked.

He hated that he was actually following these dumbass rules Ian wanted them to follow. He hated that he didn’t even really hate imagining how happy Ian would be when he got a job.

How hard could the interview be anyway? 

He just had to impress some fucking bozo. He’d done it millions of times with millions of people he was looking to scheme.

But he wasn’t just looking to scheme this fucker. He was looking to get  _ a real job _ . Where he made a measly minimum wage from now until he died.

It was depressing.

And Mickey knew a thing or two about depressing.

But there was nothing worse than working a soulless job.

He knew he’d hate Ian’s job. He didn’t mind manual labor, but it was all the other shit.

Ian came home with huge, pulsating blisters. He came home smelling like a fucking pig from working all day. And sometimes he came home so tired he’d pass out on the couch and Mickey had to wake him and almost carry him to bed. Okay, that happened once, but still. 

It fucking happened.

When Mickey got off the L and then took the bus to the warehouse, he already felt like this was a waste of time. He’d stopped off at the library to print out a resume he’d gotten online and just tweaked it a little to match what they were looking for. 

When he got to the warehouse, he told the women behind the desk what he was here for and she eagerly got the manager.

He practiced the rehearsed speech in his mind he’d gotten from reading shitty LinkedIn articles at the library and then on his phone while traveling to Amazon.

_ I really need this job.  _

_ I’d be a great worker. _

_ Hard working, smart, detail-oriented. _

_ I can do math. _

_ I’m not a fucking idiot. _

Mickey watched as the manager’s eyes slid to his tattoos and he self-consciously stuck them in his pockets.

“Mic--”

“Mickey Milkovich.”

“Ah, alright, well let’s give this a shot. Have a seat and let me look over your resume.”

Mickey did as he was asked. He tried not to fidget as he sat on the uncomfortable couch. Since no one was in the room besides him - the other two occupants were behind the desk - he took his mask off and stared unseeingly at his phone.

Finally, the manager came back over, introduced himself, and asked him to take a walk with him.

Mickey could feel hope bubbling in his chest at the fact that he was getting across the first hurdle. Now all he had to do was convince this fucker he would be a good hire.

He wasn’t banking on seeing Ian at the warehouse.

He wasn’t expecting the weird questions he was asked.

He definitely wasn’t expecting the guy to shoo him away like he was one of those dumbass seagulls down at Navy Pier trying to steal people’s food.

As he saw the disgust and distrust in his eyes, the bubble of hope in Mickey’s chest popped and he felt the anger take over.

_ Fuck these people. _

* * *

After picking up the discarded dollar bills, Mickey stacked the pile of money he’d gotten for them and put it back into their wedding cash drawer. He’d nearly gotten the money back to where it had been before he’d put the IOUs in there. But he knew that wasn’t going to get him back into Ian’s favor. Not that he really gave a shit or not if Ian was still pissed. Although, he did wonder if he was going to seriously withhold sex from him tonight when they got into bed and cuddled.

_ Wait, were we still going to cuddle? _

He looked down once more at the money and then headed toward the bed. Stripping off his shirt and throwing it into the corner as he walked toward the bed. He collapsed onto the mattress and wiggled his phone out of his pocket.

Ian was in the shower washing off the sweat from his workout, so Mickey took a few minutes to figure out how he could boast about making more money before he came to join him for bed. 

He could tell him all the things he was going to buy with their money - after the bills of course. He could point out how he was the one who bought Franny a present for her birthday and  _ not _ Ian. Or he could go the subtle route and talk about how  _ he  _ was the one to come through in the end and  _ save the fucking day. _

Stripping off to his boxers, he turned over and crawled onto his spot of the bed and turned off most of the lights except for one. Turning to face the wall, he scrolled through his phone since he didn’t want to go right to bed just yet.

Ian gave him that dumbass ultimatum, but he figured if he could show him what he was missing, then he could talk him into fucking him before they fell asleep. 

(Honestly, if Mickey let himself go down that path, then he wasn’t even sure that he’d be able to fall asleep without his husband sticking it in his ass at least once. Despite how annoyed they were at each other, Ian never outwardly said ‘no’ to him when it came to sex. And somehow Mickey knew that Ian was thinking that this was it, Mickey was going to do whatever he could to have sex with him because in his fucked up mind sex was the only thing Ian was good at. 

But the last laugh was on Ian because Mickey really couldn’t give a shit. Well, maybe a little, but not in the ways that Ian thought. Sure, he liked Ian’s cock. He liked the way he felt inside him. He liked the way Ian’s big hands... Anyway! What Ian might now know was that he  _ also _ liked the closeness that sex brought them and Mickey  _ might _ admit that he  _ may have a slight _ problem vocalizing how much he loved Ian, especially when he could just fucking show him.)

As he was reading an article about marijuana in California, the accordion door opened up and Ian entered with a towel around his waist. Unwillingly, Mickey turned around to look at his husband and eyed his slick, wet torso.

“No,” Ian said.

He must’ve seen the salacious look in Mickey’s eyes.

Mickey grinned and shrugged.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He rolled onto his back and watched as Ian moved around their tiny room and started to get ready for bed. As usual, he put on some lotion, took his pills, put on a new pair of boxers (which was weird since they both slept in the nude to make it easier to fuck, but this must be a part of Ian’s no-sex rule), and hung the towel next to Mickey’s. Then he crawled onto his side of the bed. 

Mickey frowned when he noticed how far Ian was from him. He scooted over a little and watched as he looked at him from the corner of his eye.

Mickey grinned and scooted a little closer so they were a few inches away.

“Don’t throw money on me again,” Ian said abruptly.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a bitch. I was being funny.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“Fine. Then stop nagging me about getting a job. I pulled in more money than you today.”

Ian turned onto his side to face away from Mickey and he sighed in irritation.

“Ian, come on--”

Suddenly, he turned back over and looked at him. “What happened at the interview?”

Mickey felt himself freeze at the question. He replayed the look of disdain in the warehouse manager’s eyes. He saw how he eyed his tattoos and already labeled him scum. And maybe images of past teachers and social workers and hell, fucking probation workers telling him what he could and couldn’t do came to the surface. 

Even if he hadn’t looked directly at Ian until the end, and thanks to the mask he couldn’t fully see the disappointment on his face, he already knew he was a letdown. Who wouldn’t be disappointed in being with someone like him? What did he have to offer? 

In his mind’s eye, he could see those green eyes he usually loved overflowing with despondency.

Just another thing Mickey couldn’t do fucking right that all of Ian’s previous fucking boyfriend were able to.

_ Stupid Mickey can’t even get a fucking job. _

“Nothing.”

“Mick--”

“He was asking dumb fucking questions. It’s a shitty place to work anyway. I don’t know why you think it’s the fucking Holy Grail.”

Ian opened his mouth and then closed it. He tried again; opening and shutting it. As if he thought better about whatever he was going to say. He turned onto his back and breathed in and slowly let it out.

“Good night.”

Mickey frowned and watched as he turned over one last time onto his side to face the door. He’d expected more of a fight than that. He expected Ian to tell him that he needed to keep trying. He expected more nagging.

But there was nothing.

Staring at the titties tattoo (when the fuck was he going to get that removed?) Mickey scooted closer until he was pressed against Ian’s back. With the way things were going, he half expected Ian to shake him off, but instead, he sagged against Mickey and he took that as an invitation to wrap his arms around his torso and pull their bodies closer. 

He nuzzled his nose against the back of Ian’s neck and closed his eyes.

“We’re still not having sex?” Mickey murmured against his skin.

Ian made a frustrated sound and moved to untangle himself from Mickey, but he was gripping him too tightly and eventually he stopped fighting him. Although, they both knew that if Ian really wanted to, he could go downstairs and set up camp on the couch or go sleep in one of the bunkbeds that weren’t used anymore.

“Stop moving! I’m trying to sleep!” Mickey whined.

“Maybe I don’t want to cuddle with you,” Ian snapped.

Mickey laughed and tried to turn him over to look at his face. Ian was glaring at him, but Mickey ignored him and pressed a kiss against his lips. Then he pulled away and scooted back toward his side of the bed.

“Fine, bitch. If you don’t wanna cuddle, then sleep on your side of the bed.”

Ian stared at him and then huffed. He rolled back to face the door and reached behind him to no doubt find Mickey’s hand.

It was probably a good thing that Ian couldn’t see him because he was grinning triumphantly and he moved back toward him. Cuddling back into his original position, he pressed his front against Ian’s back.

Mickey nuzzled his nose against the back of Ian’s freckled shoulders and pressed a soft smile to the pale skin. He bit his lip as he saw Ian’s shoulder’s relax. For a moment, he wanted to tell him he loved him, that he didn’t mean to be an asshole, just hated today. Instead, he pressed another kiss to the side of his neck and settled back into place.

Slowly, Mickey waited for sleep to overtake him. It felt like years later when it finally came. He wasn’t willing to analyze why it took so long..

* * *

Mickey was suffocatingly hot when he woke next. The room was pitch back with only a sliver of light from the street lamps outside slithering into their bedroom. He’d somehow gotten wrapped up in the sheets and ended up spiraled on his back in the middle of the mattress. Ian was nowhere in sight.

Sitting up in alarm, he kicked the blankets away and got up to go in search of him without a second thought. However, as his feet hit the wooden panels, the accordion door opened gently and Ian quietly came back into the room carrying a glass of water. When he saw Mickey sitting up in bed, he stopped sneaking in.

“What are you doing?” Mickey demanded.

Ian held up the glass of water in answer. He walked back over to the bed, placed the water next to his pills and crawled into bed. Mickey immediately cuddled into him and laid his head on his chest.

“Why are you up?” Ian asked.

Mickey yawned and shrugged, “it’s hot in here.”

“Open the window.”

Mickey looked over at their tiny window and reluctantly pulled away from Ian to open it a sliver to let some cool air in. It automatically began to feel better. 

He moved back to his original position, but Ian had moved in his absence and was laying on his side, his arms outstretched and waiting for Mickey to crawl back into them. Mickey gave him a measured look and even in the darkness of their room, he could see the soft curve of Ian’s lips. He wiggled his fingers in an invitation. Mickey grinned and laid back down on their shared pillow with his back pressed against Ian’s front.

“You still angry?” Mickey murmured.

Ian made a ‘hmm’ sound and tightened his hold on Mickey.

“You still keeping this fake ass ultimatum up?” Mickey whispered.

“Mick…” Ian began and trailed off. He sighed and his breath tickled Mickey’s ear. Mickey figured that he wasn’t going to go on, but he said, “I don’t like saying that shit.”

“Then why say it at all?”

Ian didn’t answer for such a long time that Mickey thought he’d fallen back asleep. He was tempted to turn over and look at him, but when he shifted, Ian tugged him closer to him so that their bodies were entwined in the way they always were. Exactly in the way that Mickey liked, but never voiced to him.

“I don’t know. Figured it would be a good motivator.”

Mickey laughed softly, “your dick isn’t a fucking magic stick, man. You can’t fucking wave it and get me to do anything.”

Ian shifted behind him, but didn’t say anything to that.

“I fucking hate ultimatums,” Mickey added.

“You think I love giving them?”

“Sometimes?”

Ian made a sound of frustration and for a moment Mickey thought he was going to pull away. When he didn’t, Mickey breathed a sigh of relief. 

He hoped Ian didn’t notice.

“So…?” Mickey mumbled. He knew that Ian knew exactly what he was asking without him having to actually voice it. It was one of the nice things about having this  _ connection  _ with him.

Ian laughed softly, “ask me in the morning.”

Mickey grinned to himself.

_ I’ll take that as a challenge. _

* * *

Ian wasn’t surprised when he woke up to find Mickey’s lips wrapped around his cock. The way he moved up and down; sucking so hard that his cheeks hollowed out. His tongue was pressed to the underside of his dick the way he always did when he was intent on drawing it out. Mickey’s one hand was playing with his balls while the other one moved upward to tweak his nipples. The pad of his thumb playing with the quickly puckering right nipple.

It was a normal way to wake up, but it wasn’t until he was inching closer and closer to his orgasm that he remembered the no-sex rule.

“Mick!” Ian exclaimed and grabbed at his shoulder.

Mickey dislodged his jaw from around his cock with a loud pop and grinned up at him from his position between his legs.

“What?” Mickey asked massaging his legs and ducking back down to blow gently on his wet cock. He licked the head of it and sucked it into his mouth causing Ian’s legs to shake at the overwhelming sensation.

Ian groaned and arched his back eager to be finished off.

“You like that, Dom Top Daddy?”

Ian closed his eyes and hated how weak he was when he said, “fuck yes.”

Mickey smirked, “Fucking slut for me.”

Ian clasped the back of his neck and moved him back toward his cock to finish the job. “You’re the one whose a slut for my cock.”

“Hil-fucking-larious. Did you want me to finish you off?” Mickey mocked. He resisted Ian’s nudge toward his cock and raised his eyebrows at him as if he had no clue what Ian was trying to get him to do.

“Mickey, come on,” Ian whined. His cock was throbbing, red, and ready to explode.

“What, Ian? Did you need something?” Mickey continued to tease.

Ian let out a groan of frustration and sat up. He pushed Mickey onto his back so that his head was nearly hanging off the bed. Quickly, he lubed up, positioned himself at Mickey’s hole and without preamble he pressed into him. They both moaned in unison at the sudden joining of their bodies. Ian wrapped his hands around Mickey’s neck and began to pound into him. He closed his eyes and got lost in the sensation of moving in and out of his husband.

“Take it you dirty convict.

“Thought you weren’t going to fuck me until I got a real job.”

Ian huffed and said the first thing that came to his mind. “Got my eyes closed. Pretending you’re a Jonas Brother.”

“Huh. Which one?”

“Hmm Joe.”

He made a noise of protest, but Ian ignored him too lost in the feeling of being inside Mickey. He could feel the tingles mounting again right back to where they were before Mickey stopped sucking him off. If he had been paying closer attention, then maybe he would’ve seen what Mickey was going to do.

Suddenly, his husband flipped them and exclaimed something about wanting to impregnate him and a demand to call him Nick Jonas. But all he could pay attention to was how Mickey was trying to stick his dick inside him and telling him how he’s going to make him his bitch.

“Woaw, woah. The fuck you doing?” Ian pushed him away and added, “this isn’t how we do it.” 

Mickey didn’t seem to hear him as he tried again to get behind him. Pushing him away, Ian could feel that familiar churning sensation in his stomach. He hadn’t felt it for a long time, but the gleam he never wanted to see in Mickey’s eyes paired with being called ‘his bitch’ and ‘going to make you my bitch’ caused him to feel nauseous. Getting out of bed when Mickey didn’t listen to him, he hurried to the bathroom. By the time he got there, he didn’t even feel like jacking off anymore.

Images of past dalliances flowed through his mind and he struggled to push them back tightly into the box they came from.

* * *

The rest of the day Ian had a hard time shaking what had happened that morning. He honestly wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

It wouldn’t be the first time Mickey had topped him. After they had gotten married, they were more intent on trying new and different things. They had always had an active sex life, but now that they had the room, privacy (sort’ve?), and the time, they wanted to try everything together. 

Which is how they ended up with a ball gag.

The handcuffs.

The crop.

The dildos.

The bondage tape.

The collar.

The rope.

And the old t-shirt they used as a blindfold.

But that wasn’t the point.

Ian had bottomed on their wedding night. It was a fun exploration that he enjoyed, but wasn’t crazy about. He liked the control and power of topping. He liked filling Mickey up. He liked being inside of him. 

Mickey liked being manhandled. He liked the compliments of how well he took it. He liked Ian pounding into him - all things Ian had known for years - and while he was a power bottom and maybe Ian  _ was _ his bitch - not that he’d admit it - they were both happy in their roles. He  _ knew _ what Mickey liked. And that was bottoming.

So to have him suddenly springing up this desire to top him - it was  _ weird _ .

And Ian was okay with weird as long as he was comfortable with it. 

As long as it was with Mickey.

He’d never felt uncomfortable with him until that moment this morning when he didn’t listen to what he was saying. And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that Ian thought he did, but it  _ still _ happened and all Ian could think of were all those men that used to treat him like an object.

He didn’t want his husband to treat him like that.

(A little voice in the back of his head reminded him that Mickey would never treat him like that, but with all the weirdness since he’d confronted Mickey about their money problems, he was beginning to get lost in his own head.)

Which is probably why when he heard ‘how about don’t be a little bitch...’ from his boss, he immediately saw red and flipped out.

It was really weeks in the making at this point.

And yeah as he took the L to head to the Alibi, he felt like shit.

He fucked up.

He was jobless.

He was still on parole.

They still had bills.

He really fucked up.

What were they going to do now for money?

And now Mickey was going to rub this in his face too.

He couldn’t even keep a warehouse job.

Just another career he fucked up.

And he couldn’t even blame it on his disease this time. 

This was all him. 

_ He _ was the failure.

Walking into the Alibi and seeing Mickey, he was conflicted. On the one hand, he was happy to be around Mickey because that’s just how he always was, but on the other, the larger one, he was reminded again how he had failed.

He made such a big deal about having a legitimate job, of doing the right thing. And now here he was, he’d quit his job cause they made him work overtime without pay. Sure, he knew that it was wrong. But how did quitting his job because of some shitty words his boss spewed at him help them now? He was going to have to tell his parole officer. He was going to have to tell Mickey that he fucked up.

The only silver lining was maybe Mickey would empathize with him. Maybe they could move forward together and figure out a job the both of them could enjoy doing. 

The moment though that he heard Mickey’s mocking and began to rail on him, he realized that he wasn’t going to make this easy on him. 

And his blood started to boil at every hurled insult Mickey threw at him.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

_ Fuck this shit. _

His boss calling him a bitch was one thing, but hearing Mickey berate him and make him feel more like a loser than he already was made his vision turn red.

He was  _ fucking tired of everyone shitting on him _ .

So yeah, head butting Mickey wasn’t the best idea, but they’d always worked their issues out physically better than verbally. 

Why should this time be any different?

* * *

On the way home, Ian half expected Mickey to leave him behind and walk ahead of him. Instead, they fell into step and silently walked home. And maybe it felt a little uncomfortable, but Ian was too lost in his own thoughts as V’s words tumbled around his head. 

Ever since V had bitched them out, neither of them had exchanged a word. Ian had eaten his brownie and Mickey had eaten his. (V gave them some pot to smoke when they got home.)

When they got through the door, they immediately went to the kitchen. The rest of the family was in there, but Ian’s head was still filled with what had happened at the Alibi. 

The way he’d head butted Mickey because of the words coming out of his mouth.

He knew hitting him wasn’t going to solve their problems.

He knew that it was just going to create more of them.

_ He knew all of that. _

And yet… It made him feel better for a few minutes.

It was a familiar way to deal with his frustrations.

But V was right, they shouldn’t hit each other.

Honestly, he didn’t need her telling them that. Ian knew it; Mickey knew it. But sometimes, he just got frustrated. He wasn’t even completely angry at Mickey. Well, he was. It had been building since he found those IOUs. Before that even when he didn’t get a job when they were able to go out again. 

It was just his life.

It was the shitty paycheck. The shitty job. His fucking shitty boss. His continuous fuck ups that left him back at square one. It was Debbie nagging them for money. Their  _ lack  _ of money. Mickey’s blasé attitude about going back to prison just to put a few bucks in their pocket. The possibility of Mickey going back to prison at all. 

It all mounted.

And Mickey was  _ there _ .

He knew that no matter what he and Mickey did to each other, he fucking  _ knew  _ neither of them were going anywhere. They’d reached the end of the line and it was together. So if they fought a few times - if Ian landed a punch to his jaw - it wasn’t like Mickey was going to pack up and leave. Just like Ian struggled to get him back even before the cast was fully wrapped on his leg after Mickey pushed him down the stairs at the courthouse.

The violence wasn’t right. 

He  _ knew _ that.

Really, he did.

But it was just another way for them to communicate.

And that was probably on both of them.

He grabbed an ice pack and a beer. Sitting at the counter, he watched the drama of the night unfold.

After Lip yelled at Debbie, they sat down to dinner. Ian reluctantly sat next to Mickey as they ate the lasagna Liam had cooked. 

It wasn’t until later when they were back in their room after they had showered - alone - did Ian finally break the silence that had entrenched itself between them.

“Sorry for punching you,” Ian said begrudgingly.

Mickey snorted and pressed the ice pack against his face. “You  _ head butted _ me.”

Ian scowled and turned to snap at him, but instead, he sat back against the wall and turned back to the video game they were playing on their phones.

“I’m sorry too,” Mickey said after a moment.

Ian looked at him from the corner of his eye and saw that he was focused on the video game, but a small curve of his lips had tilted up and Ian smirked.

“Wanna get high?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Mickey grabbed the baggie they’d gotten from V. Ian put down the video game he was playing on his phone and watched as Mickey began to roll up a joint. When Mickey looked up, he caught his eye.

“You really quit your job?”

Ian scowled at the reminder.

“Yeah.”

“Fucker’s a dick anyway. Glad I cussed him out.”

Ian smiled slightly and nodded, but the sting of getting fired was still there. Or quitting. Whatever he wanted to call it.

“We could put together a lawsuit. Say it was homophobia,” Mickey mused. 

Ian smiled at the suggestion and scooted a bit closer to him. When Mickey looked up at him and smirked secretively, Ian felt something loosen in his chest that he hadn’t even realized had tightened up.

“Sure. He fired me cause he hates gays. Maybe red heads too. He wouldn’t hire you cause you’re gay. We could add that to the lawsuit,” Ian added.

Mickey laughed and finished off the joint. He handed it to Ian to light and placed Ian’s book and the remaining weed on the bedside table. Ian lit the joint and breathed out toward the window. He handed it over to Mickey whose finger’s grazed his own. As usual, that light feeling tingled upwards through where Mickey touched him.

Ian watched him as he smoked the join and he shuffled a little closer.

“Probably should stop hitting each other…” Mickey mused.

“Probably,” Ian agreed.

They passed the joint back and forth a few times and the room steadily got smoker as they got higher.

“We good?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, “yeah, sure, Gallagher.”

He handed over the joint and Ian took a long inhale.

“What the fuck are we going to do?” Ian asked quietly.

Mickey surprisingly grinned at him and plucked the joint from his hands. Ian frowned in confusion at Mickey’s reaction.

“We’re not--” Ian began, but Mickey cut him off.

“Relax. I got it covered. V and Kev need some help. I’ll let you in on the scheme if you promise to stop nagging.”

Ian scoffed at the response and stole the joint back from Mickey.

“What’s the scheme?” Ian asked instead of going with a quip about how if he didn’t  _ not _ nag Mickey nothing would ever get done.

Mickey grinned mischievously. “Security.”

Ian laughed, "nice. Should've known." After he handed him the joint back, he moved his arm to rest against Mickey’s. Their fingers pressed against each other and Ian smiled seeing that shiny ring on Mickey’s finger.

_ Why was I angry again? _

Mickey was his husband.

What was there to be angry about?

(He couldn’t lie and say the pot wasn’t helping the anger leave his body.)

He reached forward and pressed his index finger against Mickey’s. He wiggled the finger until Mickey moved his to link them together.

“This is good shit,” Mickey muttered.

“Frank apparently has been getting it,” Ian said in awe.

He was mellow for the first time all day. He wasn’t sure if it was the pot (probably) or the fact that for the first time in days he and Mickey weren’t fighting (definitely). Whatever it was, he finally felt at ease.

After a few minutes, Mickey asked, “wanna fuck?”

Ian grinned at the request and in answer, he leaned forward. Turning to Mickey, he moved his other hand to cup Mickey’s cheek and brought him in for a kiss. He tasted like pot and beer. Underneath that, he could taste the distinctively Mickey taste that he’d loved since he was 15.

Things may not be perfect.

They may be up in the air and neither of them had jobs.

Ian still had no idea what marriage was supposed to look like. Were they supposed to fight this much? Were they supposed to resolve things by smoking pot and fucking? 

Whatever marriage was supposed to be, Ian doubted that it was this messy.

It didn’t look like it in the TV shows.

But maybe it also was supposed to be like this.

Having nothing to compare it to, Ian was beginning to realize that maybe they just had to make it up along the way.

Pulling away, he plucked the still burning joint from Mickey’s fingers and tossed it into their ashtray. His eyes dragged down his form lasciviously when he took his shirt off and Ian grinned in response. Mickey licked his lips and launched himself at him.

As their lips locked again and more and more skin became exposed Ian breathed a sigh of relief as he showed his husband how much he loved him.

Ian knew they needed to communicate better.

He knew they needed to stop hitting each other when they couldn’t verbalize their frustrations.

He knew that they really needed to talk about money.

But most importantly, he knew that he loved his husband and they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or a kudo if you'd like.
> 
> If you like my work, here's an update for my future fics. I'm working on a story, but it won't be posted for awhile. So besides for some fix it fics/one shots I might feel like writing for the next few months (based on the episodes) I'll be working on this story. That's pretty much where I am. Just wanted to keep you posted. Follow me on Tumblr at Livinginsunnyhell if you'd like!


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